Adult-FanFiction.org : Lord of the Rings

The Last Wood Elf	By : Mel99Moe Category: +Third Age > AU - Alternate Universe Views: 4551 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings or any characters or places. No money is being made from this story.

Chapter List
- 28
- 29
- 30
Chapter 29 – Rohan’s Redemption

Legolas sat on his knees, his Quenya name staring back at him from the sand. He was in complete shock at Gandalf’s admission that Thranduil, King of Mirkwood had been his father. This couldn’t be true, he thought over and over. He knew who his father was. He had been one of the king’s soldiers, not the king himself. “You’re wrong. His name was Tharan. I saw him fight with the other guards and lose his life. Would a king do such a thing?”
“Your father would,” Gandalf answered, “Thranduil never saw himself above others, but as an equal, especially during times of war.”
Legolas remained silent, trying as hard as he might to think back to his childhood for anything to confirm what Gandalf was telling him was true. But his father had kept him isolated, and there was nothing that would ever make him think that he was anything more than a royal guard.
There was something else though, something Calariel had said to him. It made no sense at the time, and Legolas had nearly forgotten about it, but now it seemed like there might be a link. “When the elleth was suffering from fevered dreams, she came to, looked me straight in the eyes, and called me Prince. I thought she was hallucinating, but—”
Gandalf knelt on the ground next to Legolas, interrupting his train of thought. With the end of his staff, the wizard traced a circle around the name, Laiqalassë, “She must have recognized you, though I do not know how.” Then Gandalf drew a line beneath the word Lothlórien, “There is but one way to find out.”
Legolas understood Gandalf’s meaning, but he shook his head in disagreement, “I cannot go. I cannot abandon Eomer. Already, I have lost one brother. I will not lose another. It does not matter who I am or where I came from. Rohan is in peril. Eomer will be arrested once he reaches Meduseld. There will be no one left if I do not go.” Legolas got to his feet, “I hope you still mean to come to Rohan, as well as Aragorn and Gimli.”
Gandalf smiled, his dark eyes sparkling with memory, “You have your father’s obstinacy, I see, and your mother’s devotion. Good … very good.” Gandalf pulled himself to his feet using his staff. “We will ride to Edoras, but when this matter with Théoden is taken care of, I would have you know the story of your parents, if you are willing to hear it.” The wizard held a hand out to help Legolas up.
Legolas hesitated, “Only after Théoden’s mind is freed and Eomer and his men are safe from Grima, then you can tell me what you know.” He took Gandalf’s hand, and got back on his feet, surprised by the strength of the wizard. There was more to him than met the eye, Legolas thought.
Gandalf spread the sand with his foot, erasing Calariel’s message before leaving the glade, “For now, we keep your Quenya name to ourselves. There are those who would not be too enthused to know the heir of Mirkwood’s throne still lives. Your uncle was smart to refer to you by your Sindarin name.”
Gandalf and Legolas made their way to the edge of the forest where they found Aragorn and Gimli, but no horses. Aragorn addressed Gandalf, unsatisfied with their situation, “It is no use. We have looked and called, but our horses are nowhere to be found.”

“I’ll be the first to admit that I’d rather walk than get on that beast’s back again, but it is too far to Rohan, and there is no time to spare. Unless you can puff on that pipe of yours and conjure up some magic, Gandalf, I’m afraid we are doomed,” Gimli complained.
Gandalf laughed quietly, “I’ll do one better than that, Gimli son of Gloin.” The wizard took a few steps forward and whistled long and loud so that the song drifted with the wind. Nothing happened at first. No clouds swirled overhead, no strong gale stirred up the fallen leaves. Then, after a few moments, they heard a far off cry, and in the distance, three horses galloped towards them.
“We had only two horses,” Gimli said, “Who is the third?”
Legolas saw them before the others, and was shocked by the glimmering white beast that led Arod and Hasufel to them. “Gandalf, is that Shadowfax?”
“Yes it is, chief of the mearas,” Gandalf answered proudly, “Faster than any other horse of Middle-earth, fearless, extraordinarily intelligent, and my friend for many long years.”
The three horses approached, and Arod went directly to Legolas, looking relieved and content to be amongst such equestrian nobility. Legolas noticed that he was hardly winded after the run, as if Shadowfax’s presence had lent him strength and endurance.
The travelers mounted their steeds. Legolas looked to Gimli, who had ridden with him on their way to Fangorn Forest. He held a hand out to the dwarf, offering help, but Gimli would not meet the elf’s eye.
“I would prefer to ride with Aragorn from now on,” said the dwarf with a hint of mistrust in his voice.
“And here I thought we were becoming friends,” Legolas replied lacking enthusiasm.
It was obvious that Aragorn had explained the meaning of the Quenya name they had seen. Gimli had made it quite clear earlier that he had blamed King Thranduil for the destruction of Erebor and the great loss of kin. Now he knew that Legolas was the son of the elf that he held responsible. This left a nagging doubt on Legolas’ conscience. Would his father have made such a seemingly awful decision to allow people to die without doing what he could to help? The father he had seen fighting against the surge of orcs as they broke into the throne room would not have stood by and done nothing. He would have rode on the front lines and charged in with his men, slaughtering any orcs who got in his way. There had to be an answer. There had to be a reason other than the one Gimli believed to be true. Perhaps the mystery would be solved once he had a chance to speak with Gandalf. For now, there were more important matters to attend, and Legolas focused his energy on Edoras and what would happen once they arrived.
* * *
The hill in which Edoras was built upon was unmistakable, rising out of the vast flat plains. At one time, the sight of the gilded roof of Meduseld called to Legolas like a beacon of hope and homecoming. Now, he was not sure what to expect. He could be sure he’d see no warm welcome.
As they got a good deal closer, Aragorn slowed the horses to a trot, not wanting their approach to seem too hasty and cause alarm. The sight of the strangers would be alarm enough. Legolas knew it would not matter how fast or slow they rode into the city. Suspicions would raise immediately, especially with Grima in charge.
The elf observed his companions. He had told no one about the condition of his departure from Rohan. Riding with them into the city would put them at risk, and he did not want them arrested for associating with a felon. It was time to tell them.
“I am not sure I should go any further with you. Maybe I should find my own way in, and look for you within the gates,” he said, leading Arod between the other two horses.
“What is it, Legolas?” asked Aragorn.
Legolas looked out over the plains towards the city, “I told you that I did not leave Rohan under the best circumstances. Returning to the city will mean my arrest. You see, I was charged with a heinous crime and locked in the cells from which I escaped. The accusations against me were false. I was set up thanks to Grima and his … accomplice,” he said carefully, “and my recapture will surely mean a march to the gallows.”
“I find it hard to believe that they think an elf could commit a crime so terrible, he would be sentenced to death,” Aragorn commented.
Gimli huffed, “What did Grima do, sneak a ruby into your pocket and cry thief?”
“He hired a woman to seduce me, knock me unconscious, and accuse me of rape,” Legolas said abruptly, “I escaped the day before I was to be hung.”
Aragorn, Gandalf, even Gimli all seemed shocked by Legolas’ admission, and rode in silence as they registered the information. Aragorn dropped back and glanced at Gandalf, “What shall we do then? This is a matter between Legolas and Edoras, and though I do not believe it to be true, we do not have the authority to intervene.”
In a very calm and easy manner, Gandalf answered, “We shall not let anything happen to Legolas. He will ride in with us, though perhaps we should disguise him as well as we can.”
“He can wear my cloak,” offered Aragorn as he pulled the garment from his shoulders, and tossed it to Legolas. “At least it will get you through the main gates. The hood will help hide your face.”
Legolas draped the tattered old cloak around himself. It smelled of the wild, and some part of him found comfort from the scent of trees, smoke and earth. The hood was large, covering hair and head, allowing him to shrink into its depths. But this would not be enough, he thought as he looked at Arod, “They will recognize my horse.”
“They will recognize mine also, but I will just tell them the truth, that Eomer lent them to us, and asked that we bring them back as a sign of friendship,” Aragorn said.
“And if that does not work, they will have an ax wielding dwarf to deal with,” Gimli added, taking everyone by surprise. They regarded him with stunned faces, for it was well known that he was not very fond of Legolas. He glanced around at the others. “What?” he said as he adjusted his shoulders pugnaciously, “I may not have much use for the elves, but even I know that they cannot perform an act such as the one in which he has been accused. Besides, this Grima fellow sounds like he needs a little reprimanding.”
“He is not a common foe, Gimli son of Gloin. Grima looks pale and weak, but his power does not come from physical strength. He has deeply assembled himself with Saruman. While the White Wizard rules from Isengard, he uses Grima to rule from Rohan. Together, they have turned the King against his own family. Part of their plan was to turn Eomer and Théodred against each other. When that did not work, they searched to destroy them, and succeeded with one. Eomer and Théo are the only ones that stand between Grima and the throne. I was merely a nuisance and easily expendable. What animosity lies between Grima and me is personal.” Legolas adjusted himself upon Arod, shoulders squared, head held high, bow and quiver neatly tucked beneath the cloak. His eyes narrowed on the city, ready to take on any challenge, ready to meet Wormtongue again, this time without shackles and iron bars. “Grima is mine,” he said with rancor.
* * *
One of Grima’s guardsmen entered the room out of breath from the sprint to the advisor’s chamber, “My lord, strangers approach the city. Looks to be four of them. They ride Rohirric horses too, and one of them is the King’s mearas, Shadowfax.”
“Gandalf the Grey,” Grima said smugly, “Here a little sooner than I expected, but I am ready for him.” He turned to face the messenger, “What do the other’s look like?”
“One of them is a man with black hair and scruffy looking. A small stocky figure rides with him. We belief it to be a dwarf, my liege,” the man said anxiously. “The other is covered with a cloak. No one can see his face.”
“Very well, let them into the city and see that they come straight to Meduseld. We don’t need that nosey wizard poking around unnecessarily. When they reach the veranda, strip them of their weapons, and then allow them entry, but whatever you do, see to it that the wizard leaves his staff outside of this hall. Is that understood?”
“Yes, my lord,” the guardsman answered, and he ran off to relay the message.
Along the way, he drew the attention of Gamling, one of the last still true to King and country. The tall blond Rohir caught the messenger by the arm to stop him, “In a hurry, Drengar?” Gamling had known for a while that this particular guard worked for Grima. He also knew that he was weak when faced with confrontation. Poor choice for the position of guard, Gamling thought, but good for his own agenda.
“I have a message to deliver,” Drengar said as he pulled his arm free, “You will do well not to interfere.”
“And I am Captain of the Guard, so I suppose that message is for me. Now, tell me, and I’ll not toss you down the steps.”
Drengar gave up easily, “It is for the door guards, instructions about the approaching strangers.” He went on to tell Gamling all that he knew.
The Captain dismissed Drengar, and looked around the hall, finding two of his trusted men watching from the shadows. Gamling signaled to them and they approached. Then he relayed his plans, “The door guards are under Grima’s influence and will not leave their post, so I’ll just go and join them. If indeed it is Gandalf the Grey that approaches, then I think he brings help, whoever his company is. You two stay inside the hall and out of the way, in case there is any trouble.”
Gamling joined the two guards outside the grand wooden doors and waited. Just as Drengar had said, one of the men was indeed Gandalf. The old wizard looked tired and weak as he bent on his staff for support, and Gamling wondered what kind of trauma he had been through. Gandalf smiled kindly and nodded at the guards. Then he spoke to Gamling, asking to hold councel with King Théoden.
“You have permission, but you must leave your weapons outside of the hall. We know not the company you keep, and the King is suspicious of all outsiders,” Gamling announced. He watched as Gandalf signaled to his company with a nod, and they lay their weapons upon the stone floor of the veranda.
There was an odd manner about the one covered with the cloak. Gamling looked into the darkness of the hood, but he seemed to shrink back. He was also very reluctant to part with his weapon. Gandalf regarded the hidden stranger, and told him it was alright and to do as he was told.
Legolas’ heart raced with panic. As soon as the guards saw his elvish bow, they would know who he was. He was unsure of Gamling. Once, he had been a close friend and mentor, but there was no way to be sure that his mind hadn’t been turned towards Grima’s demands. With Gandalf’s urging, Legolas brought his bow and quiver out of hiding and laid them upon the ground. The two door guards looked at them curiously, but as they watched the cloaked figure lay two long knives next to the elvish bow, they had no more doubt who was beneath the hood.
Each guard held a sword at his side and started to unsheathe it, but Gamling was quicker, knocking one guard in the head with the hilt of his sword, and the other with his elbow. The guards fell to the ground, unconscious. Then Gamling turned back to the cloaked man, “Legolas?” he whispered.
Legolas knew by the man’s tone that he was still a friend, and he pushed the hood back slightly so his face came into the light, “It is good to see you again, Gamling.”
The man seemed allayed to see the elf standing before him, “Legolas,” he said again with relief, “We had no idea what happened to you. Eowyn was worried sick after you left. And then when Eomer told us he found you out near—”
“Eomer! He made it here? Where is he now?” Legolas demanded.
“Yes … yes, he is here, but—” Gamling took a deep breath, “He is locked up for treason. I guess you know that already. And you, you’re risking your life by being here. What are you thinking, man?”
“Well, I’ve got help,” Legolas said, smiling as he glanced between Gamling and his companions.
Gandalf stepped forward and addressed Gamling, “You just get us in to see the king, and keep Grima’s men from interfering.”
“I have men positioned within the hall,” Gamling announced.
Gandalf nodded and gestured for the others to follow him inside. When Aragorn, Gimli and Legolas reached to take back their weapons, the wizard stopped them, “Those will do us no good here. This is dark magic we are up against, but I am prepared,” he said, waving his hand over the end of his staff. The end glowed white like the light that surrounded Gandalf when the others found him in Fangorn Forest.
Gamling frowned, “Grima gave strict instructions not to allow you to bring your staff within the hall.”
The light went out on the staff, and it looked like an old worn piece of wood. Gandalf smiled, “Did he now? Well, you wouldn’t deprive an old man of his walking stick, would you?” And with that, the wizard bent forward leaning on his staff with one hand, and Legolas’ arm with the other.
Gamling winked, and then moved to the door, “Let me announce your arrival, and you may follow me in.”
Inside, the hall looked dark and dismal. The windows that Eowyn had so painstakingly cleared were once again covered. No fresh air has circulated within for some time. Legolas noticed how it smelled stuffy from old smoke and burnt wood. The fire pit was unused and there was a chill within the place. It felt like death inhabited Meduseld, grief and deception mingling together in the deep corners of what was once a place of celebration and warmth.
At the head of the hall, sitting upon his throne was an old withered form, shoulder’s slouched forward, long gray hair unruly and unkempt. Deep lines creased his face, and his eyes were glassed over as though there was no soul within the vessel. Had Legolas not seen him raise his head, he would have thought him to be a corpse, and wouldn’t put it past Grima to try such a morbid stunt.
And there stood the worm in his usual place at the King’s side. He looked paler than Legolas remembered, but his eyes were still just as dark and held that touch of fear that never quite seemed to disappear. Legolas’ eyes narrowed beneath the hood and his fingers itched to wrap around his scaly neck. From here, the elf could see that King Théoden was barely even a shell of his former self, and his heart wept at the sight, but he remained hidden beneath his disguise, waiting to see what Gandalf would do.
Gandalf led the company through the hall, still using Legolas as support to give a nonthreatening impression. Gimli and Aragorn walked side by side, but each one taking the opposite side of the aisle. Their eyes scanned the hall, mentally checking off men and their positions. As they moved forward, Gandalf spoke, “Théoden King, I come seeking councel.”
“You are not wanted here, Gandalf Greyhame,” Grima called from the dais, “A thief you are, and a foolish old man. You are nothing but trouble, bringing ill news that benefits no one but yourself.”
Legolas felt Gandalf release his arm and square his shoulders as he walked closer to the throne, “The wise speak only what they know, Gríma son of Gálmód. A witless worm you have become. Therefore, be silent and keep your forked tongue behind your teeth.”*As the wizard finished speaking, Gandalf flung from his shoulders the dirty grey cloak he wore, revealing brilliant white robes that seemed to illuminate the darkened hall. He brought his staff forward and the tip glowed with the same white light.
Gríma moved behind the throne in which Théoden sat. He called out to his men scattered around the hall, “His staff, he still has his staff! Seize them!”
Gríma’s men rushed towards the strangers, and Aragorn, Gimli and Legolas sprang into action. Without weapons, they had only their brawn to fight with. Aragorn took a couple men coming from the right side of the room. Gimli took the ones from the left. Legolas was faced with a very large man who came out from the shadows by the dais, but he watched Gríma from the corner of his eye. As he fought, his opponent ripped the cloak and it slipped from his shoulders, revealing his true identity. Gríma’s eyes widened with shock, but quickly narrowed with anger when he saw Legolas.
“It’s him! It’s the elf who escaped the cells! Kill him! Kill him now!” Gríma commanded of the man who fought against Legolas.
At that point, Gríma’s burly henchman pulled a small knife from his boot and lunged towards Legolas. The elf jumped out of the way of the man’s long reach, managing to grab his wrist and twist it. The man resisted, but Legolas was stronger and the wrist made a popping sound as the bone broke painfully. He dropped to the floor grasping his arm. The knife lay a few feet away from him, and Legolas eyed it. Then his sight switched back to Gríma, still hiding behind the King’s throne.
It was the only weapon within reach. His bow and long knives lay outside on the veranda. Aragorn and Gimli were busy subduing the last of the guards. Gamling and his two men were keeping watch over the others that had been knocked unconscious, and Gandalf was advancing on Théoden, his staff glowing as he chanted some spell. No one was paying any attention to Gríma except Legolas.
“You’re mine,” he said menacingly as he reached for the knife. While bending down, Gríma made to escape, but the only way was to run past Legolas and out the front doors. The elf was quicker, though, and captured Gríma, pushing him up against one of the wood column’s that supported the roof of the hall. Legolas’ forearm came up and crushed Gríma’s neck, pinning him to the pillar. His other hand held the knife just below Gríma’s ribs at an upward angle. The tip had broken through the material of Gríma’s shirt and threatened to do the same to his skin.
“Too long have I dreamed of this moment, to come face to face with the man responsible for everything that has gone wrong,” Legolas said through his clenched teeth. “How easy it would be to kill you right now, to gut you like the pig that you are.”
“You cannot kill me,” Gríma retorted. “I may not be respected by the people, but I am still a man of Rohan, chief advisor to the King. I’ve done nothing that would permit you to use violence against me.”
“Nothing outright,” Legolas uttered with anger. “For years, ever since you came back to Rohan, you have been trying to break me, to see me cast out. You use others to do your deeds, and then sit here as if you care about Rohan and its King. But I know, Gríma, for I have seen it with my own eyes. You sided with Saruman long ago, to weaken this country, destroy its King and rule from the throne. Was that what he promised you, to use Théoden as a vessel for Saruman’s black magic, to turn brother against brother, and then sit in command of your own land?”
The point of the knife pushed deeper into Gríma’s side, making him groan uncomfortably. He refused to answer Legolas, but his eyes deceived him as they darted to the left, looking at someone pleadingly. Legolas pushed the knife further still, sure that the point had drawn blood. Then he glanced over his shoulder and saw that Eowyn had entered the hall. She was watching the scene unfolding between Gandalf and Théoden, or what only seemed to be Théoden. The threats and the words that came from the King’s mouth were not his own. Legolas had heard this voice before, when he had seen Gríma slip some kind of powder into Théoden’s cup. Now he heard clearly that is was Saruman speaking through the King, using his eyes to see into the heart of Edoras, and in turn allowing Gríma to rule from behind the throne.
Legolas looked again at Gríma, who was watching Eowyn with some twisted kind of longing. Legolas tightened his arm against the pale white neck, and Gríma gasped for breath. “Not just the throne then. And you think she would love you after your deception, after throwing her brother in the cells.” He paused and whispered into Gríma’s ear, “After sending Théodred out and forcing him to disobey his father’s commands which cost him his life, you think she would love you?”
“And what could you have given her?” Gríma answered, “I could make her my queen, give her the life she deserves. You would only have brought her misery. You don’t belong here. You … never … belonged here.”
The words came back to Legolas as though he’d just heard them, the soft voice full of tears and dread, the end of a love that might have been. His head ached as he was swept back in time to that day within these very walls. Lúta had said the same thing in the same tone, and the feeling of rejection filled his heart again. Rejection by his first real love, rejection by the Woodsmen, rejection by Grimbeorn and his people. No one wanted an elf with no home, no family.
“Yes, you remember well, don’t you,” Gríma whispered, working his mind power on the elf. “She knew before anyone else that you should not be here. Lothlórien, Rivendell, that is where you should have gone … to stay with your own kind, but not even they would have wanted a depraved wood elf. It was a favor done to this world when Mirkwood was wiped from the map. Uneducated savages, all of you, raping and pillaging, hoarding the riches of the world while seducing anything you could stick your cock into. I was doing you a favor by sending you to the gallows.”
Legolas could feel the veil of darkness clouding his mind, and the icy fingers of doubt squeezing his heart. He fought against it, concentrated on the ancient words Gandalf was now chanting. Saruman’s laugh echoed through the hall, and for one brief moment, Legolas thought that all was lost. Gandalf would surrender to Saruman’s counter spell as he tried to keep control over Théoden’s mind. Aragorn and Gimli would be overpowered by Gríma’s men. And he himself would kneel down to Gríma and beg for his life before the hanging noose.
But something happened that wiped all these disparaging thoughts aside, cruel visions that had conjured themselves within his mind and against his will. Magic, Legolas thought, all of this was only dark magic.
“Be gone!” Gandalf shouted, and his staff lit up the hall with blinding light. All was quiet for a moment until Legolas heard a desperate cry.
“Uncle!” Eowyn called as she ran to Théoden.
Legolas could not see her, but he heard her slippers padding across the floor. He still held Gríma within his grasp, afraid to let him go. No, he thought, let Eowyn be with her uncle without any interruption from this slimy worm, and let this man make one wrong move so he could kill him. But Gríma did not move anything but his eyes as he watched Eowyn comfort her uncle.
“Don’t you look at her. Don’t look at anyone but me, for I hope the vengeance you witness upon my face is the last thing you see,” Legolas warned.
Gríma gave a quick breath like a sadistic laugh, and then spat in the elf’s face. Quicker than the eye could follow, Legolas changed his hold on Gríma, dropping his arm from the man’s neck and replacing it with the knife, which now threatened to slice from ear to ear.
“Now you die, you evil son of a—”
“Legolas!” said a booming voice unmistakably belonging to Gandalf.
Legolas did not move a muscle, and stayed focused on Gríma. To be this close to ending his miserable life—
“Legolas!” Gandalf called again, his tone still strict, but more compassionate, “It is not his time.”
“It was not Théodred’s time either, but who was there to save him? Not me nor Eomer, and it was all because of this man,” Legolas countered. “Why should this filth’s life be spared while a good man has gone too soon to his grave?”
“Legolas, please don’t,” Eowyn pleaded softly where she stood behind him. He hadn’t heard her approach.
“You of all people should want to see him gone. He had plans of wickedness against you, to force you into something you did not desire,” Legolas responded.
“You have been touched the deepest by his deception, but if you kill him, you will be no better than he or Saruman. Enough tragedy has occurred because of Gríma. Death would be too swift a punishment. Let him live, and he will be haunted by these heinous decisions,” Eowyn said trying to convince Legolas.
“He was once a man of Rohan,” Gandalf interjected, “A loyal subject of the King and to his son, but he will never again be in Théoden’s good graces. Let him face the reality of deceiving the very person he once loved.”
Legolas did not answer, nor did he release Gríma. He was fighting with himself whether to let this scum live or end his life right now. The elf’s hand began to quiver, and a spot of blood pooled beneath Gríma’s chin. “What does it matter if I kill him or not. My own life is forfeit. I have been charged with an unspeakable act and sentenced to death, but I’ll die peacefully knowing I took Wormtongue with me.”
“Those charges have been annulled,” Eowyn said, “Róta has confessed.”
“What? How?” Legolas said confused. He found it hard to believe that Róta found any goodness within her black heart.
“It was Gellír, the boy, the messenger I sent to Eomer,” Eowyn said.
“Gellír, he is alright?” Legolas had always wondered what happened to the little thief, especially when Eomer said he’d not seen the boy or Eowyn’s message.
“He is fine. He’s here within the city. When Gellír heard about the charges against you, he swore he knew you could never do such a thing. He took it upon himself to spy on Róta, for she remained in the city after your imprisonment and escape. Gellír heard her admit the truth about that evening, as she spoke to an acquaintance. She also mentioned being hired for her talents by you, Gríma.”
“I deny any involvement with the blacksmith,” Gríma croaked. “It is her word against Gellír’s, and he is a known thief. What good will any of that do?”
Eowyn went on speaking to Legolas, “Gellír also snuck into her home, and found the package that contained traces of the sedative she used on you that night. He went to Gamling, knowing he was still loyal to the King and to me, told him what he heard and gave him the packet. Gamling questioned Róta rather brutally until she confessed. Unfortunately, Róta escaped before she could be put in a cell.”
Gríma smiled wickedly at the news of their misfortune, but Legolas adjusted the blade of the knife against the man’s throat and the smile disappeared.
“The King is coming around,” Gamling called from the dais, where he and his men watched over Théoden. Gandalf had managed to break Saruman’s spell, but the King was slow to recover after such a long absence of mind and body.
Eowyn looked towards Théoden, needing to go to him, wanting her face to be the first thing her uncle saw when he awoke fully from the spell. He hadn’t known about any of this, not Gríma’s deception or Legolas’ charges, not Eomer’s jailing and not the death of his only son. The day Théodred’s body arrived was the darkest day of Eowyn’s life since losing her parents. Today, she would have to relive that day as Théoden learned of Théodred’s death and grieved for the first time. But for the moment, Legolas was her main concern.
“Please, Legolas, you must let Gríma go. He will pay for what he has done, but you cannot be the one to deal the punishment. We must follow our laws, and if you kill him, those laws will be put to use against you. Your name has been cleared through Gamling, and when my uncle learns of Gríma’s betrayal you will be free of all charges. You are an innocent man, Legolas. It is over,” Eowyn pleaded.
Legolas pierced Gríma with his steely blue gaze as he reluctantly lowered the knife from the man’s neck. Gríma would not move just yet, knowing how unpredictable wood elves could be. When Legolas took a step away, Gríma’s shoulder relaxed and he blew out a relieved breath. Too soon he thought he was safe, and the elf went for his throat again, this time grabbing the slim pasty white neck with his hand and squeezing, “You owe the lady a life, for she has just saved yours. I would have risked the gallows to see your blood spill at my feet. But she was wrong about one thing. It is not over, Wormtongue.” Legolas released Gríma so suddenly, that the man fell forward.
Legolas turned his back to Grima and faced Eowyn. She wrapped her arms around him, glad to see him, glad that he had not done anything to damage his reputation any further, “I have been so worried for you,” she whispered.
“It will be alright now. Come, let’s go to Théoden. He will need your strength now,” Legolas answered as he released her embrace and led her to the dais.
“Lady Eowyn?” Gríma called. She stopped, but would not turn to face him, and waited for him to speak. “I … Thank you.”
“I asked him to let you live … for now, but if I were you, I’d never stop looking over my shoulder,” she said, and then she went to see Théoden.
The King slowly came to, his eyes clearing from the fog that blinded him, his ears hearing the voice of his beloved niece calling to him. “Eowyn,” he whispered as her smiling face showed signs of relief and tears of joy.
“Uncle,” she answered and kissed his forehead.
“What has happened to me? I feel as though I have been locked away from my own life.”
Gandalf stepped forward, bowed and stood at the base of the dais, “Théoden King, long you have been asleep, but that is over now, and when you have recovered your strength, I ask to hold counsel. I apologize for my hastiness, but I’m afraid time is of the essence.”
Théoden nodded, though he was unsure and confused by everything. He looked around the hall, “Why is it so dark, and why isn’t the hearth lit?” His eyes scanned the faces, seeing those he recognized and some he did not. Then he noticed those who were missing from his company. “Where is Eomer and where is my son?”
“Eomer is here within the city,” she started, not quite ready to tell him that he was locked beneath Meduseld within the cells. She paused and looked to Legolas, finding the strength she needed to go on. She knelt next to Théoden’s throne, and Legolas took the opposite side. Then she took a deep breath, and started the long and devastating story of the unfortunate fate of Théodred.
While everyone’s attention was diverted, Gimli caught movement out of the corner of his eye, “Gríma escapes!” he warned.
Across the hall, Gríma was slinking towards the main doors. Gamling called to his men to stop him, but when they started towards him, Wormtongue pulled the infamous dagger from beneath his robe. Legolas saw the weapon, jumped down from the dais, and started down the hall to help subdue the crooked man. The main door opened and the blinding sun made it difficult to see Gríma. A small form emerged through the door, a child.
“Legolas, you’re back!” Gellír shouted.
“Gellír, get away from—” Legolas warned, but it was too late, for Gríma grabbed the boy and held the dagger to his neck.
Everyone stopped where they stood, except for Legolas, who slowly advanced down the hall, “Let him go Gríma!” he commanded.
“Do not come any closer if you value the boy’s life,” Gríma instructed.
“It’s too late for you, Worm,” Gamling said, “The blacksmith confessed your involvement. We know who you side with.”
Gríma laughed maniacally, “You know nothing. You will all be ruined, and Rohan will be destroyed, but I will not be here when that happens.”
Legolas could feel his fury building rapidly, “I should have killed you a moment ago, but nothing will stop me now.”
Gellír let out a whimper as the edge of the blade pushed against his neck. Then Gríma smiled, showing his yellowed teeth, “I believe this will stop you, or do you wish for the boy’s blood to be on your hands.” As he spoke, he hadn’t noticed Gellír turning in his grip. The boy suddenly kicked Gríma in the shin, making the man cry out in pain. The hand with the dagger fell away from the boy’s neck, and Gellír stomped on Gríma’s foot. The brave child then escaped from Gríma’s grip and ran to one of Gamling’s men.
Seeing that Gríma no longer held the boy for protection against the others, Legolas strode down the aisle, mind set upon capturing the advisor. Then, Gandalf called out in a loud booming voice across the hall, “Let him go, Legolas. Let him run to his master.”
Gríma spun in a whirlwind of black robes and flew from the hall. Gandalf reined in everyone’s attention, “Gríma will not bring harm to anyone here ever again. He will leave the Riddermark, and his fate will be sealed. This was his choice and now he must suffer the consequences.”
Gellír ran to Legolas and threw his arms around the elf’s waist. He was crying, frightened by everything that had happened. Legolas held the boy to him, rubbing the thin back to comfort him. “He’s gone, child. Gríma will never harm you again.”
Through his sobs, Gellír spoke, “I thought you were gone too. I thought I hadn’t done enough or that Gríma had found you and killed you.”
Legolas got down on one knee and took the boy’s face in his palm, wiping away tears with his thumb, “It is because of you that I am free. What you did was dangerous, but the bravest gesture I’ve ever known anyone to make on my behalf. You were the one who exposed the blacksmith, and in turn, Gríma. You should be proud, Gellír, and I thank you from my soul.”
From the hallway at the back of the hall, behind the dais, Eomer emerged along with his men who had been held below in the cells. Legolas watched in slow motion as his friend ran to his sister and they embraced. Théoden, still in shock at all that had happened, sat on his throne, shoulders hunched forward and face buried in his hands as he grieved for the loss of his son. That was all the King could manage for the moment. Eomer and Eowyn went to their uncle and knelt at his side. The room came to a quiet halt as every person bowed their head and grieved with their King. The prince was gone, his body lying honorably in state. As urgent as things were, Rohan must be given time to lament and bury their dead.
Aragorn and Gimli had joined Legolas at the back of the hall. This moment was for the people of Rohan, not for these strangers, though they shared in their sorrow. Legolas stood, the boy still clinging to his side, and watched the King and his family from a distance. In that moment, he realized that the time had come. Théoden was free. Eomer and Eowyn were with him now. Legolas’ place was no longer at their side. He would have to leave Rohan soon, leave behind his friends and his adopted family. There was a change in the air. Something called to him from a distant land, a place he barely remembered, but one he knew was the only such place he could truly call home. It was time to find a way to reclaim Mirkwood.
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The Last Wood Elf